//------------------------------// // Departure // Story: Sunset: Stranded // by Viking ZX //------------------------------// Chapter 13 - Departure Sunset could hear them hunting her. She was back in the apartment above the gardening shop, her body curled into a chair, the gnasher clutched against her chest like a lifeline. The darkness was absolute, a cloying, suffocating black so thick she felt like she was breathing it in with each careful breath. She didn’t dare make a sound, she didn’t dare even move. She’d held the same position for the last several hours, ever since she’d heard the voices. Voices that were clearly not seran. Her bladder ached and her muscles had long since gone stiff, but still she didn’t dare move, didn’t dare shift. The slightest movement could give her away, and if that happened … She swallowed, her throat dry and sticky. She didn’t really know what would happen. Just that it wouldn’t be good. Something along the lines of “lucky to die.” She’d raced back to the garden shop in a frenzy, almost losing the wagon in her haste to get away from the shaking ground. The distant rumble of the ground opening up had been close enough to her for her to hear it, and she’d known right then and there that it was very likely something had heard her as well. She’d stashed the wagon in an alley and run the rest of the way without it, holding her shotgun like a ward against evil. It was only after she’d reached the shop that she’d realized she still only had the one shot left in the shotgun, and that she’d left the camp store without taking any additional shells. Not that fighting had ever really been an option, but the lack of any other firepower meant that it truly wasn’t something she could consider. All she could do was hide. She’d torn through the front of the shop, shoving all her stuff behind shelves and countertops so that it wasn’t visible from the street, collected her buckets from the back alley and hidden them inside, frantically worrying that each splash of spilled water would be the signal her pursuers would need to find her. Then she’d rushed up the steps and closed every curtain she could—first the ones that had come with the home, and then the makeshift blackout curtains she’d made behind that. Light inside the apartment had shrunk to a dim glow. Then she’d chosen a chair and waited, heart pounding, sweat sliding down her back and making her shirt stick to her skin like a wet, clingy coat. Gradually her breathing had slowed, heaving gasps brought about by panic and exhaustion giving way to slower, more methodical and quiet inhales and exhales. Her muscles, molten from her frantic sprint across the city, had settled into a sort of burning topor, like congealed jelly. She’d almost been about to convince herself that it had all been for nothing when she’d heard the hooftsteps. Or footsteps—bootsteps, perhaps? Whatever the word for it in her new world, the sudden realization that she was hearing something bipedal—multiple things that were bipedal moving past the front of her abode was enough to steal all breath from her. They’d moved slowly. Methodically. Here and there a piece of rubble had shifted as something had stood on it. Rock had skittered across the street, kicked by a wayward stride. A sudden bang as something had slammed against the side of a carriage had made her jerk in her seat, only pure, desperate fear keeping her from crying out in surprise. Guttural laughs and growls had sounded through the curtains over her windows, like rocks grinding against one another, muffled but clearly some sort of language. A language that wasn’t seran. She’d said a silent prayer to the Creator, waiting with each heartbeat pounding in her ears for the door to the shop to be kicked in, for the group to rush up the stairs and do … whatever it was they did to captives. Probably nothing good, given the terrified alternatives people had taken across the city. But they hadn’t. They’d moved past the front of the building, slowly but surely, and before long she hadn’t been able to hear them at all. They’d left, moved on to another street. She’d stayed in the chair, her only light the faint cracks from around the edges of her curtains, not daring to move. Counted the seconds as they’d ticked past, even though there was nothing for her to time her count by. She hadn’t wanted to risk making a noise, risk doing something that would call her pursuers back. But they’d come back anyway. That time she’d heard their guttural voices first, echoing down the street alongside a laugh that was almost a growl and had made her insides feel like water. She’d tried to keep her thoughts collected, tried to pull what she could from the sounds she could hear. At least two voices, maybe three or four sets of boots. A small patrol? Looking for their wayward pack of wretches? Except that she’d slaughtered that pack, and she had no doubt that if they’d gone looking for it, they would have found it. Which meant that they weren’t looking for the wretches. They were looking for the one that had killed them. Again the footsteps and rough speech had faded, leaving her alone in the apartment. Again she’d waited, not daring to move, or shift. And again, just as they had before, they’d returned. This time they’d been slower. More methodical. Searching, maybe. The sound of their language had been more focused and precise. Like orders rather than idle chatter. There had been the crunch of a heavy tread on gravel just beneath the front windows, slow and plodding, and she had been able to envision the thing in her mind, dark and shadowy like some of the pictures in the papers she’d found, peering through the front windows of the shop, hunting for any sign of seran presence. She’d felt as though each terrified breath had sounded like a beacon, that at any moment the thing was going to hear her and it would all be over. Then it had moved on, the sound of its heavy steps fading down the sidewalk as it inspected other buildings, and she’d almost sighed in relief, suddenly glad she’d broken in the back door rather than the front. Still, she’d left signs elsewhere across the city. How good at tracking were they? Were they as good as some of the ponies in the Equestrian Rangers, who could see a woodland scene and tell you how many animals had passed through in the last day, and what kind? Or were they more like her? She’d almost wet herself in fear when the next time she’d heard them pass by, the sound coming  from the back alley rather than from the main street. Especially when she’d heard them again stop right below her, even if only for a moment. But again they’d left, not disturbing the rear door or, apparently, seeing the buckets of water and earth she’d stashed just inside it. Altogether, they’d made six passes by the time the sun had set. A seventh had followed soon after. Now the room was darker than dark, wrapped in a black so all-encompassing it seemed endless. Her bladder ached, and her muscles had long since locked, so stiff they may as well have been cut from stone. Her fingers no longer wanted to move, cramped from so many hours of being clenched around her gnasher. Her neck felt like it was made of nothing but tightly-bound cords, stretched until they were almost about to break. But she still didn’t move. She didn’t dare make a sound. She didn’t even dare sleep. Not when she was being hunted. A long, low laugh echoed down the street, and Sunset tensed once again. They’re back. Again she strained for the sound of their steps, and again she was rewarded with the faint sound of boots treading down the street. They have to suspect I’m nearby. Maybe they’d found the wagon. Or maybe some other sign that she hadn’t even thought of. Maybe that was why they were looping back, again and again right past the building where she’d made her habitation. Maybe they even knew where she was. Maybe they were just toying with her. Playing a game by walking by every so often to see if she’d cracked yet, or if she’d panicked. It didn’t sound like anything she’d been able to scrounge up about the Locust … but then how much had the serans really learned before they’d all but lost their war? Enough, the rational part of her mind supplied. Some of the things the papers had reported the Locust doing to civilians they’d caught had made her stomach churn. It had simply been barbarism, pure and simple. Worse, even. Evil. Unless the government had lied. From the sound of things the Coalition of Ordered Governments had hardly been above that. She and their leaders would have gotten along there, at least. But then again … I haven’t seen any signs that the Coalition needed to lie about what the Locust are like. The patrol outside her window was getting close now, the rough low grumble of their language becoming clearer. Some of it sounded like coughs, but every so often it would change in pitch to something that almost sounded understandable. Signs that they’d picked up language from their enemy, perhaps? Maybe they understand seran? It wasn’t the first time the thought had come to her. Maybe there’s a way to talk this out? And if there wasn’t one? Her panic and fear had given rise to multiple discourses inside her head, each one arguing for or against the various ideas she’d had between each pass of the patrol. What then? Die, your destiny unfulfilled? Maybe this was our destiny, another thought suggested. To die alone on this alien world. Maybe that’s why— No. She took direct control, squashing out the thought like an errant insect. That wasn’t what she was afraid of. She was afraid of what I was going to become. Not that I would die. She didn’t care enough about me for that. Now her chest felt tight. Outside the patrol had begun to move past the apartment, the sounds of their passage now fading as they completed yet another cycle of the day. One of them said something, and two voices laughed in reply. Three of them, then. At least. What were they laughing about? Were they laughing at the scared seran cowering above them? No. That didn’t make sense. If they were playing with her, they’d played far too long for it to be worth the effort. The sun had been down for at least an hour now, maybe longer. Surely there was no way they’d draw it out for so long. Not if they knew where she was. Which meant … I’m safe. For the moment. She still had to pee terribly, however. Her bladder ached every time she took notice of it, which now felt like anytime she took a breath. Every part of her hurt and ached. She wanted to sleep, but what would happen if she made a noise in her sleep and alerted her hunters to where she was? She couldn’t risk it. She needed to stay awake. To stay put. The sounds of the latest patrol’s passing faded. She swallowed, her throat dry. Her insides felt like there was an overinflated balloon shoved up against her intestines. Where is the bathroom anyway? How would she even find it without a light? Worse, she hadn’t brought a light with her to her current seat. There were solar-powered lanterns on the table, but that was … how many steps away? Her bladder was getting worse, each pulse of urgency coming with her heartbeat. She needed to move. Needed to do something. Part of her just wanted to let it lose, to soil her clothing and her seat but stay right where she was. But that would stink, as well as be unsanitary. And she wasn’t sure how good a sense of smell things hunting her had. They’d come from underground. Did scent matter there? She didn’t know. But if she could smell it, there was a chance they would be able to. Which meant she needed to get to the bucket in her bathroom. Which also stunk, despite the earth she’d been putting over each of her leavings. It was lidded, but once it was open … Give the patrol another five minutes. Long enough to be a few streets over, or to have made their presence known coming back up the alley. Even if every second of it felt like agony. It beat dying. There was little to do but listen to the silence left in the Locusts’ wake as she waited. The city was quiet as a grave, not a single bird tweeting, nor a single stone shifting. That alone made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. A forest only went silent when it was afraid. One of the Rangers had showed her that once, taken her deep out into the woods away from her watchful eyes and into the path of a migrating manticore. He’d secluded them in a safe position, then told her to pay attention to the sounds of the forest as the manticore had been coming near. He’d been right. As the predator had approached, the forest had gone silent, everything hiding or going quiet as the massive beast had passed through. Only once it had safely passed them by had the forest come to life again. Now the same thing was happening to Holton. Save that the sounds hadn’t come back yet. Which, if anything, meant that the Locust were even more dangerous than the manticore. That has to have been five minutes! She couldn’t wait any longer; if she did she was going to explode. For the first time in hours, Sunset shifted, grimacing as her muscles stiffened and locked. “Ow.” Even as quietly as the word slipped out of her mouth, it still sounded deafening. She froze, the sudden stop making even more of her body cramp up. Nothing happened, and after a few tense seconds she relaxed. Or tried to. Parts of her body seemed to be having trouble getting the message, refusing to move properly or unknot. Her first step became more of a stumble, and her arms slammed into the side of the table. The gnasher clattered to the floor as she lost her grip on it. Again she froze, blinking back tears from the sudden pain radiating up her arms. One muscle knotted up, additional pain radiating out like a blossoming flame. Don’t. Lose. Bladder. Control. She reached out with her good arm, poking gingerly across the tabletop and groping for one of the lanterns she’d left atop it. Got it! Her stiff fingers closed around warm plastic, and a moment later a soft glow filled the room. Dim, but brilliant compared to the darkness that had preceded it. She listened closely, but there was no cry of alarm from the street outside. Carefully, with every muscle in her body sending out protests, she scooped the lantern up and hobbled through the apartment, each thump of her boots or errant impact against the walls sending up a fresh cry of alarm in her head. It wasn’t until she reached the bathroom itself that she realized her mistake. The room’s lone window was small but cracked open. Worse, it was blocked only by plain curtains, not by anything heavier. Sunset covered a side of the lamp with her hand, casting a shadow over the thin white cloth as she scanned the room. There has to be something I can use to—Aha! Towels! She winced, her muscles protesting as she reached up to nestle the top of the towel over the curtains. Sitting in a single position for half a day will do that. Only once the curtains were covered with two towels, however, did she feel safe enough to turn to her bucket and take care of her business. “Ooooooh.” The slip-up was automatic, and for a brief moment, she didn’t even care that the sound could have alerted the Locust. If I died now, it’d almost be worth it. Almost. It took a full minute for the process to be finished. She cleaned herself as best she was able with the limited light, then shoveled some fresh soil over the mess from a bag she’d brought up just for that purpose. She sealed the bucket off once more, cutting off the offensive odor that was emanating from it. With luck, the smell would be long gone by the time the patrol circled back. I’m going to have to figure out how to do this on the move, she thought as she quickly cleaned her hands. I can’t be hauling a bucket of dirt and leavings across the country. Well, I could, but it wouldn’t be a good idea. She kept one hand on the wall as she moved back to the living room, using it to keep her balance as her legs knotted and twitched. Now that her bladder was no longer screaming for attention, the aches and cramps from the rest of her body felt much more pronounced. Where’s the gnasher? She stepped back into the living room, searching the dim light and locking on the smooth metal shape of the weapon, still lying where she’d dropped it on the floor. You’re tired. You’re making mistakes. How long had it been since the sun went down? Then again, there was only one shell left in the gnasher. One shot wouldn’t do her much good. Just make her ears ring once again. Which, according to the instructions she’d read, was something that given time would leave her with permanent hearing damage if she wasn’t careful. Earplugs, she thought. There’d been some at the camp store, but she’d been a little too busy and panicked at the time to even think of grabbing them. I’ll need to get those. And a watch. She settled back down into her chair, grimacing slightly as she felt the faint imprint of where she’d been sitting for most of the day. Her muscles protested the return to the familiar positions, twitching and threatening to lock, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. The lantern in her lap glowed like a star, a lone bright point that almost seemed to beg against the inevitable as she stared down at it … But she couldn’t risk its glow being spotted, even dim as it was. She flicked the switch, watching as the lantern died, light quickly fading to little more than an ember before disappearing entirely. Then she was alone once more in the dark with only the silence of the city to keep her company. Time ticked by, measured only by the faint beating of her heart, until at last she drifted into an uneasy sleep. * * * Day Eleven - Holton I need to leave the city. Now. It’s not safe here. Yesterday I almost died. Wretches—the small, vicious things like the one that was in the school—found me. I don’t know if they were looking for me or if it was just chance. Maybe I’ve made too much noise too many vibrations. Maybe it was just routine. Maybe the Locust sweep old cities from time to time looking for survivors. The damaged locks I’ve found would indicate that there have been others. Either way, the city isn’t safe anymore. I kILled them, and their handlers came. Hunting me, I think. Can’t write more. I need to be out of the city by nightfall. They seem to be gone, but if they come back— A nervous tremor ran through her, fear bubbling up like a cloud from deep within. Sunset closed her eyes, ignoring the sandy sensation that slipped across the inside of her eyelids. There hasn’t been a patrol all morning. They’re gone. You’re safe. But she wouldn’t be if she stayed. Whatever I did to catch their attention, I might do it again, she wrote. I have to leave. Move west. Find the Jacinto Plateau. She picked up her pen once more, making a final entry. Or at least by tonight, I need to be at the camp store. Sunset closed her journal, staring down at the worn cover. It was risky to go back to where she’d killed the wretches, but there were simply too many things she still needed to grab on her way out of the city. I shouldn’t have counted on being able to come and go whenever I felt like it. Hopefully the mistake wouldn’t cost her. She stared down at her journal for a moment before picking it up and moving it gently to her pack. Both were some of the last few things she had left from Equestria, and the pack had been changed by Starswirl’s spell. Her journal, her pack, Starswirl’s spellbooks, and her canteen. The last one still had her symbol on the side. She’d not found the time to remove it yet. And there definitely isn’t time today, she thought, flipping the canteen around to hide the offensive sunburst. I need to be moving. She didn’t want to. She’d awoken in the early hours of the dawn, frantic with panic that she’d been found at last, only to be greeted by a body so stiff and sore it had been an effort to rise out of the chair, much less move around the room. There had been no sign that her hideout had been found during the night, and after several hours of waiting, there’d been no sign of the Locust passing by once more either. They had gone. Or, at the very least, they had moved to another part of the city. She wasn’t sure which. But the birdsong was back, the faint sounds of nature a sign—at least as she chose to see it—that it was safe to emerge once more. Emerge and go somewhere else, Sunset thought as she closed the pack and swung it over her shoulders. Her body immediately protested the sudden weight brought about by fully-loaded canteens, her journal, Starswirl’s books, and other important items, muscles twitching and threatening to make the faint headache behind her eyes all the worse. Tough. The urge to leave the city now was more important than any other drive at the moment. She’d been in Holton for almost two weeks. Far too long. And it’s not safe. She gave the tabletop a final look, memories of the hours she’d spent pouring over books running through her mind. A few of them were stacked on one end of the otherwise now-clear surface. Titles she’d decided to leave behind or already finished that weren’t worth the extra weight. And I have plenty of that already. She gave the apartment that had been her home a final look, making sure that she wasn’t leaving anything else that she already hadn’t decided to leave. Her torn and bloody shirt from the day before was piled in a corner, along with a bunch of the clothes she’d grabbed during the prior day’s misadventure that hadn’t fit. That had been a good way to work most of the kinks in her body out. Though she’d been a little slow at it. She completed her circuit of the apartment. Aside from a few empty cans, boxes, and two large plastic jugs in the kitchen—also empty—it looked much as it had when she’d arrived. Just … dirtier. Not much I can do about that. She wasn’t exactly clean herself, despite her best efforts and a change of clothes. I’ll shower once I’m out of the city. On the sunny side, she was clean enough that her injuries hadn’t flared up. The gashes on her arm were tender and sore, but neither swollen nor shiny. Whatever anti-bacterial agents the COG used in their medical kits worked well despite how much they had stung. That and this body is supposed to be tough. It didn’t feel like it at the moment. Anything but, as stiff and sore as she was. There were bruises all across her skin from the day before, and a tender spot on the back of her head. But I’m still alive. Alive and … She gave the apartment a final look. Ready to go. She didn’t want to leave. The garden shop still felt safe. But I have to. She wasn’t going to find her destiny hiding in a ruin. It had to be out west. Near the Jacinto plateau. In Ephyra, the capital of the Coalition. And I’ve waited too long already. She turned and strode for the stairs, leaving the room for the last time. Down below, in the front space of the shop, she took in the results of her work. Three of the wagons were laid out in a line, the rear two hooked to the wagon ahead in a train. The rearmost wagon was empty, but the other two were occupied, organized and sorted. The first wagon—the one she’d be pulling directly—was the heaviest, loaded with no less than four of the water jugs as well as her entire supply of food, some of it inside buckets. A weather-proof covering protected the whole load, secured by stretchy straps. The second wagon was lighter, loaded with clothing, some of the books she still needed to make it through before disposing of, and cookware. The last wagon was empty. It wasn’t exactly light, even with nothing in it, but there was still more she needed to collect from the camping store. Like a tent. Sunset took a quick look around the front of the store. The sun was high in the sky, meaning it was noonday or possibly later. The air inside the shop was hot and still. One last look. She moved through the aisles slowly, crossing items off a mental list as she confirmed that they were indeed in her wagons. Tools. Batteries. Lanterns. Eventually, she’d made a full circuit of the shop, and there was only one thing left to do. She crouched, picked up the handle for the lead wagon, and began to pull. Even though she was using her right arm, rather than the left she’d used the day before, the muscles of her shoulder still protested and cried as she put the weight of the wagons on them. There was little she could do about it, however. She had to leave. It had to be done. And I can get the harness at the camp store, she thought as she began to move forward, toward the door of the shop. Take some of the weight off. The wagons started to roll a little easier as she shoved the door open, stepping out onto the street. Some animal part of her brain shouted at her that it was all a mistake, that she was going to be found and killed in minutes, but she pushed it down. She stepped off of the sidewalk, the door trying to swing shut and banging against the second wagon. The first followed her off of the sidewalk, dropping with a heavy thump that jostled its load but didn’t disturb it. So far so good. Now turn. She began pulling the wagon to one side, half-twisted so that she could watch the wagon train. The first wagon began to turn almost immediately, its front tires pivoting on its rack-and-pinion setup. As its rear began to turn, the tires of the wagon behind it reacted as well, turning slightly to the side as they followed their connection to the lead wagon. Well, Sunset thought as the second wagon dropped down off of the sidewalk, just starting to turn. It works! The third wagon followed a moment later, making a much louder sound than its two loaded sisters. Sunset winced, but the noise didn’t drive away the birdsong echoing from nearby buildings. One foot in front of the other, she began making her way down the street, following the map that existed both in her head and in one of her pockets. To the camp store, she thought. With one minor detour … The plaza she’d arrived in looked much the same as the last time she’d seen it, if a little greener. She left the wagons at the top of the steps, descending down into the park, her shotgun held at the ready just in case. The statue was still there—an astronomer, she now knew, from the “Silver Era” of the world’s history. She stared at the side of the plinth that had been the opening for the portal. There was no telling when it would open again, or for how long. She’d never gotten around to making a copy of her notes on the planet to leave behind either. But … She pulled one of her markers from her pocket, stepping toward the smooth stone. She could still leave a warning. In Equestrian, not Seran. For anypony that came through the portal, telling them to go back. She began to write, her hand moving in broad strokes as she wrote out her warning on the stone. It was short, but to the point. She stepped back, admiring her handiwork. “Leave,” the message read. “There is nothing here for you but death. Everything here is dead. The portal will close quickly. Do not come back.” For a moment she contemplated signing her name, but then discarded the idea with a shake of her head. Better that anyone who came through never knew the identity of the writer of the message. Maybe they’d think Starswirl himself had left it and not risk staying. Or maybe they’ll see my message as a challenge and stay. She frowned, then reached out and underlined the last bit of her message for emphasis. If they do stay, it’s their own fault. On the plus side, with what she’d gathered about the planet’s two moons, the portal wasn’t going to open anytime soon. They were on wildly different orbits—and being entirely free of any interference, much like the weather, little could change that. They were sealed for at least a year and a half. Though worryingly, Starswirls notes had mentioned an aspect of time dilation across differing universes— Sunset shoved the marker back into her pocket. “So long, science guy,” she said, looking up at the statue. “I probably won’t see you again for a really long time.” She spun on one heel and walked out of the small park without looking back. * * * By the time she reached the camp store and managed to load everything she needed into her wagons the sun was setting, and she decided to spend the night inside the shop rather than risk someplace unfamiliar inside or outside of the city. The bodies of the wretches were still where they’d died, which left her with a little pause, but at least none of them showed any signs of something chewing on them, which meant there probably weren’t any more of the things around. The bodies stank and had already attracted flies, but from inside the store it was a lot harder to notice. She’d gotten the harness working too, though it would probably still need some fine tuning. As well as stripped the store of every shotgun shell it had held. The weapon in question was now lying next to her sleeping bag, fully loaded once more, safety engaged. The sleeping bag was atop a small camping pad, rolled up next to one of the wagons with a tarp stretched over it for a small awning. If the weather was decent, it would be a lot easier of a setup than setting up a tent or sleeping in one of the wagons themselves. She was still taking a tent, of course. It was in the third wagon. But even the easiest of the tents she’d found took a little bit of work to set up. Sunset laid her head back on the camping mat, a faint pounding echoing from somewhere inside her head. The interior of the shop was growing darker by the minute, and her whole body ached, both from the lack of sleep the night before and her newest journey across the city. On her wrist a watch glowed faintly against the dark, though how it still worked after so many years she didn’t know. She wasn’t certain the time was right either, but it had seemed to correctly guess when the sun was going down, based on her estimate of what some of the symbols meant. That or it lined up really conveniently. The coat she was using as a pillow felt lumpy under her skull, but she didn’t care. Every part of her wanted to drift off into sleep, to let her body collapse into blissful quiet and healing. Almost every part of her. Her mind, tired as it was, was still sorting through her lists, cataloguing every item she’d loaded aboard her wagons. Food. Firestarter. Signal flares. Gnasher shells. Ammunition for a rifle, one of the “lancers” that the COG soldiers used. She’d need to collect one and learn how to use it at some point on her journey. Just as … a precaution. Just in case. Medical kits. Water purification tablets and filters. Lighters. Matches, in case the lighters weren’t as durable as promised or ran out of fuel. Tools. It’s probably too much. The wagons had been heavy enough on the way to the store. But then that had been without the harness, which would hopefully make things a lot easier. Though stopping might be a bit tricky. Sunset rolled onto her side, curling slightly and awkwardly pinning her arm under her upper body. How do minotaurs sleep like this? Two legs are the worst! Ugh! Stupid body. At least some of the books she’d managed to scrounge up had given her other information on her new body so she wasn’t going to be caught further off guard. A sigh slipped past her lips. A thousand miles to Jacinto. I think. She didn’t know how long a mile was. Something to look at in the morning. She still had her atlas, and she knew where Holton was on a map. However long or short it is, I doubt that it’s going to be easy. But the best things never are. Her mind on maps and charts, she slowly began to drift off. It didn’t matter how far away Jacinto was, or how hard the journey was. She was going to make it. She would find her destiny. Nothing else mattered.